One Bright Day Jonah's story
by VivaAmor
Summary: " "Don't worry, darling. He's a very nice man and he'll love to meet you. We'll be leaving before you know it." Eloise's words rung true in my young head, but I would live to find that even those I trusted the most would leave me for dead eventually." R/R
1. Chapter 1

(Author's note: This story wasn't intended to be read in chapters, but as a whole. However, since I know not everyone can read a 15,000+ word story in one sitting, I've uploaded them in increments for your satisfaction. Forgive me if they do not all end or begin artistically! Anyways, this is a story I wrote several months back. I haven't done anything with it, but I didn't want to let it rot in my story folder. It was one of my favorites to write. So please read, review and enjoy! :) )

This wasn't my ideal way to die, and yet there I was. The flames grew angrily, now so bright that it was painful even to keep my eyes open. I felt the heat searing my legs and hands, heard the horrifying sizzle as it burnt away my hair; the noise of it was high in contrast to the deep roar of the fire. While holding back a scream, I thought back to the day where all this had started, back to the period of time just after my short-lived homelessness… My two years with Eloise. I could have laughed bitterly at the comparison between who I was then, and who I am now. A twelve year old boy who had no idea what awaited him on the other end of that mysterious drive. And now here I was, about to be burned to death at the young age of fifteen. Simple as it sounded, I couldn't help but wish for a better way to go. A car crash would have been fast, and drowning seems so much more peaceful than perishing by flames. Dying of old age laying next to the one I loved had to be the best, though. Some people just didn't know how lucky they were.

The flames were closer now, closing me in against the iron walls. I heard the laughs, shut my eyes, and prayed to God that this would be the last time I ever had to feel pain like this again.

"Where are we going?" I asked Eloise for the thousandth time as we drove along a long country road. I didn't know exactly where I was going because she refused to tell me, no matter how many times I asked. She gave me a small smile through the mirror, and then looked ahead without saying a word. I stared out the window of her car and watched as the fields and farmland flew by. It was a beautiful sunny day, the pastures were lush and green and the sunlight shone against the gleaming coats of the livestock. I tried counting the cows a few times, but lost track before long.

"Lots of farms and land here, huh Jonah?" She said at last. It wasn't exactly an answer to my question, but it was at least something.

"Uh-huh." I nodded and continued gazing out the window. I almost felt giddy for wherever we were going, or whoever we were going to see. It was two years since my parents passed, and I'd lived most of those two years with the woman who was driving the car, Eloise. She was in her sixties, and was nice as could be. She had curly caramel-colored hair that went to her shoulders, and today she had it pulled up into a bun on the back of her head. She wore makeup, but not enough to make her look clownish like a lot of ladies did. She was sort of pretty, in a womanish way. Sometimes I wondered if she ever had a husband, but I never dared to ask her.

She took me into her house shortly after my parents' death without hesitation. And she treated me like her own ever since. But although she was really nice, like a grandmother to me, I always got the feeling that she didn't _really_ want me around. I'd overhear her on the telephone sometimes, trying to contact adoption companies or families who wanted a twelve year old boy. She didn't know that I heard those, so she probably didn't guess that I knew we were going to see somebody who might take me in.

Up ahead, I noticed an old wooden sign that rested on the side of the road that read, "_The town of Goatswood welcomes you_." I wondered if we would just be passing through Goatswood, like we had several other towns. But then Eloise looked at me through her mirror and smiled, though an unusual expression crossed her face at the same time. Was it nervousness?

"This is the town." She told me and looked away, out the windshield. She wouldn't meet my eyes again.

I felt a bit of excitement rise up in my chest. I got lost in my imagination as I stared out the window, thinking of all of the great possibilities for this family. Maybe it was a young couple who couldn't bear a child of their own, but wanted one. Maybe it would be a governor, with a great house and plenty of money. Or a perhaps a farm, with more animals than I could count. I smiled at that, as the idea of maybe owning my own dog or even a horse entered my mind. But before I could think much further, we pulled into the driveway of a grand Victorian house. I stared at it as I blindly fumbled with my seatbelt, trying to guess what family might live inside it. Eloise came around and opened my door for me and I slid out, craning my neck to see more of the beautiful house. It was a built of tan bricks, must have been at least three stories high, with a great wide porch that covered the whole front of the house. There was lots of land around it, and I secretly hoped that there was a barn somewhere behind it. I wandered a few steps toward the side of it, peeking around to try and see anything. But it just seemed like it was a big empty yard. Not even a fence.

I walked back toward Eloise, who was looking around with that same odd expression she had the whole drive there. I was about to ask her what was wrong, but then my eyes caught a small sign in the front yard that read;

"**Aickman's Funeral Home: 215 Green street, Goatswood ****–**** Phone 390-J "**

I felt like a crater had opened up in my chest as I read the first words on the old sign. Funeral home. Eloise took notice to my distress and pat me on the back.

"Don't worry, darling. He's a very nice man and I'm sure he'll love to meet you. We'll be leaving before you know it." She leaned down to meet my eyes and I tried to believe her.

We approached the house at a slow pace, because I couldn't get my feet to move much faster across the long lawn. When we reached the stairs, she went ahead of me and clicked up them in her high heels. I climbed each one with care, increasingly nervous as I thought about what kind of people might open the door. I almost expected it to be a dead person.

Eloise pulled back the brass knocker on the front door and banged it a couple times, then stepped back and waited. I stood next to, or maybe a little bit behind Eloise and stared at the door. I heard approaching footsteps for a few seconds, and held my breath as they paused at the door. It swung open, and there stood a tall old man. Under a fedora hat, he had gray hair with the smallest hint of brown in it, and a completely grayed beard and mustache that weren't too tidily kept. He was wearing a brown suit with a matching tie, as if he were about to go out somewhere. The thing that caught my eye most, though, was the pair of round spectacles that barely covered his eyes. I struggled to see them past the thick glass, but with the daylight reflecting off of them, it was impossible.

Eloise nudged me in the side with her elbow, and I remembered my manners. "Hello, sir. I'm Jonah. It's a great to meet you." I made myself smile politely and reached out to shake his hand. I almost wished that he wouldn't return the shake. But he did, and I quickly noticed how rough his hands were, and how the skin peeled. As if he'd been bathing them in chemicals. I remembered the man at the pharmacy's hands being like that. "From developing photos," he'd told me when I inquired. Mr. Aickman gave me a firm nod that matched his shake, and I pulled my hand back to my side. Eloise smiled tentatively at the man, but he did not smile back. His eyes scrutinized her as if she were a dog who'd just gone in the house.

"Ms. Eloise Burns. What a surprise to see you here." He said, his old mouth twitching once, as if he were trying to remember how to smile. I looked at Eloise, and she smiled brilliantly.

"I'm sure it is. Young Jonah and I began driving this morning, and I decided to give you a visit. I wonder if there is there somewhere Jonah could run to. I'd like to speak to you in private, Mr. Aickman."

Mr. Aickman regarded me once, looking me up and down as if I were an animal to be auctioned, and then he nodded at Eloise. "Of course. Jonah, son, why don't you go and play in the backyard? We'll only be a moment."

I didn't like the sound of that, but I nodded. "Sure." They both walked into the front door, and I turned around as they shut it behind themselves. I walked down the steps and took a turn toward the back yard, trying to nurture the very last hope I had that there might be something back there. Maybe if he only had a cat that stayed outdoors. But the yard was empty, just as I'd thought before. Just a wide plain of yellowing grass with a few oak trees here and there. He had some old medical equipment piled next to a cellar door, and a small back porch with a roof over it. I felt myself become more and more disappointed. No family, no other children, no animals. He was only an old man who owned a funeral home, living in that big house all by himself. I began to wonder if I was wrong about where Eloise was taking me. Maybe she just needed to talk business over with this man and didn't plan to leave me here at all.

I glanced toward a window on the back of the house that must've led to the kitchen. I could see the top of a refrigerator, and some cupboards. And through a doorway that must have led out of the kitchen, I saw the silhouettes of Eloise and Mr. Aickman. I wished I could see their faces, so I could know if they were speaking of serious matters, but even when I squinted, they were just black shapes against the large window in the next room.

After a few minutes of wandering around, I discovered a very old swing on one of the oak trees. It was a thick brown rope that was fraying, put through a hole in the center of a wooden plank and tied into a knot. I pushed down on it to make sure it was still sturdy enough to hold my weight, and then I climbed onto it and slowly went back and forth. I stared toward the house and hoped for Eloise and Mr. Aickman to come out the back door, laughing. Maybe Mr. Aickman had a kind old wife, and it would be like living with loving grandparents. Or maybe Eloise and Mr. Aickman could become wed, and I wouldn't have to leave her at all. I immediately felt stupid for even that split-second consideration, and tried to clear my head of it.

Whatever hopes I had built were shattered as I saw Eloise and Mr. Aickman come around the side of the house. He had his hands behind his back, hat off and tie loosened. He must not have been going out after all. Eloise looked grim as she watched me, maybe even sorrowful, but Mr. Aickman lifted his hand and motioned for me to come to them.

I stumbled off the swing and ran across the lawn, wanting nothing more than to jump into Eloise's car and drive away from this bland place and the mysterious old man. But when I ran to Eloise, Mr. Aickman put his hand out and placed it on my shoulder, slowly turning my torso toward him.

"Come on, boy. We'll get your things out of Ms. Eloise's car and get you settled. I have the perfect room for you." He smiled now. But to me it looked hollow. I gave Eloise a desperate glance, and grasped at my only excuse.

"I didn't pack any things, sir."

"Nonsense! Eloise tells me they're right there in the trunk. Don't be slow, now. Go get them." He put a hand on my upper back and walked toward the car, subtly pushing me along with him. Eloise opened the trunk and, to my dismay, there sat a brown suitcase. Next to it was a satchel that held some books, paper and pencils of mine, for schoolwork.

I reached in and pulled both out, throwing the satchel strap over my shoulder and grabbing my suitcase by the handle. I felt betrayed, angry and scared all at the same time. I wouldn't make eye contact with Eloise. She gave me a hug anyways, and whispered into my ear.

"It will be alright. I'm so sorry, dear Jonah. You will have a good life here, understand? I have a good feeling about it." She squeezed me, then stood straight and nodded at Mr. Aickman. "Good day to you both." Then she got in her car, and she drove away.


	2. Chapter 2

The next three years would change me forever. I went into Aickman's house twelve years old, blind to how much morbidity the world could hold, blind to whatever this "power" was that I bore. "You're a very special boy, do you know that? I knew I had a good feeling when I took you in. I knew you would be of great worth" he would tell me over a dead body as he worked. All I could do was nod and look around, anywhere but at the body or Aickman. I wondered if I had never come here, if Eloise had never taken me; the souls that we had sentenced to eternal torment would be free. Passed on, like they were meant to be. Gone to either Heaven or Hell. If I had never come, maybe Aickman would have discontinued his experimenting. He was in such an early stage when I first came, he might've stopped altogether and never thought of it again.

But I did come, and grudgingly aided him in a horrible way. I became his lab rat for a short amount of time, and now, I was his prized possession. A side-show freak that brought in wealth and fame for Ramsey Aickman.

I thought of all this one afternoon as I sat at the table, across from Aickman, and stared dejectedly at the half sandwich in front of me. I'd lost my appetite watching Aickman tie another soul to it's body with the use of a scalpel and words that I could not understand, even after observing for so long. He, however, seemed alright with eating, and gone was his sandwich without any hesitation. He was making another by the time he realized I hadn't taken a bite of mine.

"Jonah, boy. Eat your lunch. After I finish, we will continue. I'm not waiting up for you if you aren't finished by then." He told me, knitting his eyebrows.

_Then don't, _I thought in response. But as usual, I thought better of defying him. "Yes, sir." I said and picked up the sub in one hand, taking a bite off the end of it. Suddenly, I saw a woman standing just behind Aickman. She was tall and pale, with bluish veins showing all over her body. She had Aickman's demonic script sliced into her skin from head to toe. Frizzy and dead mangled brown hair wrapped around her face and went down her back. Her eyelids were removed, and her green eyes stared at me murderously, never ceasing. Almost like an electrical shock, an image was forced into my mind. I saw her being gruesomely murdered by men in the streets, and realized they'd violated her cruelly prior to ending her life. As fast as it'd come, the image of this poor girl's demise left my mind. She stared at me for a moment longer before disappearing, and I felt what little breakfast I'd eaten coming back up.

Without excusing myself, I shot up from the table and ran to the nearest bathroom. I violently threw up in the toilet, and it didn't help that Aickman stood at the doorway and watched disapprovingly.

"I'm not to be blamed if you're hungry later on, Jonah. Go on now, downstairs. We have work to do."

Later that night, I sat on my rickety old bed and stared out the window. It was a cloudy night, so the moon and stars were not visible. The moon was just a glowing circle, hardly evident through the thick clouds. I turned my eyes to the wall instead, where birds were painted onto it just beside my dresser. Just like every other night, I couldn't make the images leave my mind. The dead bodies themselves had become less bothersome to me, but the voices of the trapped souls would never be less disturbing. I would see them throughout the day, wandering the house. Most were in the basement, but I could see them in the parlor, kitchen, and even my own bedroom as well. Tonight, I couldn't stop thinking about that one woman that Aickman and I had been working on earlier that day. Such a horrible death she faced, and even after her last breath she found no peace. She was trapped in this hellhole, thrown in a cage with hundreds of other lost souls. There was no rest, no peace. No heaven, just hell. I laid back on my bed and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to make it go away. It wouldn't.

At last, I decided I would try something. Something I had never done before, though I'd considered it nearly every other night. I put on my shoes and left my room, still in my trousers and shirt. I didn't have pajamas, and staying in my day clothes often was better than freezing as I slept. I crept through the hallway and down the stairs, wary of the second to last one that squeaked when stepped on. Aickman's room was on the second floor, and I knew he would be sleeping at this hour. Regardless of knowing I didn't need to be so careful with each step as I went into the basement, because Aickman couldn't possibly hear me, I still tiptoed and held my breath. Once at the bottom of the stairs, I walked slowly toward the door to the embalming room. I could feel the presence of the souls all around me. They tried to scream and speak, but I worked hard to close off that part of my consciousness. I wouldn't be able to complete the task at hand if they all were shouting in my head. I might not even be able to get back upstairs.

I felt around on a table until I found a lantern, and lit it with a match from the box next to it. The illumination in the dark made me feel just the slightest bit better, so I entered into the room.

She was still on the gurney, covered by a sheet. And her spirit stood next to it, watching me with the same horrible expression as earlier, at lunch. I tried to ignore her as she stood next to the gurney, and I hooked the lantern onto the edge of it. I wheeled it toward the cellar door, where Ramsey had a ramp just for rushing bodies in before anyone could see. I opened the door and wheeled her up the ramp, then struggled to get the slanted door at the top open without letting her roll back down. After a few minutes of stumbling, I succeeded in opening it, and pushed her up into the yard.

The night outside was quiet and cold. The grass was soaked with dew and a mist loomed above the ground, stretching up to nearly the tops of the trees. Once again, I became very wary of how much noise I made. I cursed the squeaky wheel on the gurney as I ran as fast as I could toward the woods with the body. Her soul never left the side of it. It was not running, just remaining next to the body. I cringed away from her invasive eyes and wheeled faster into the woods.

Once I was deep enough in that I knew nobody would see the fire, I tipped the gurney until she fell off and pulled it out of the way. The soul watched me, maybe a little less lethal toward me now as she watched me lift the lantern into the air. And then I threw it right at the body and backed away quickly, struggling to take the gurney with me.

The glass broke and oil spread everywhere, quickly catching fire from the flame in the lantern. The fabric wrapped around her body caught fire easily, and once I was sure that she'd burn until there was nothing left, I ran back toward the house, leaving the crackling blaze behind me.

I was feeling very proud of myself as I quietly wheeled the gurney back into the embalming room, and went to place it back where it was before. I could tell Aickman that I stored it in the walls, early that morning. He asked me to do it the next day anyways. I managed to find my way through the dark, since I was afraid the lights would be too unsubtle and I'd thrown away the only lantern. I walked out of the room and toward the stairs, but stopped short by what I saw at the top.

Aickman, in his night clothes, stood at the head of the stairs. The lights were on in the hallway behind him, and for once his glasses were off. His forehead was puckered and mouth pulled down in a frown as he stared down at me with dark eyes. Suddenly I felt very small, like I just wanted to go and hide under something or run away. But that wasn't an option at the moment. I stood frozen, trying to look innocent, though my jig was up.

"What have you done?" He asked after a few seconds, and I racked my mind to find an answer. Did he see me? Did he really know what I'd done? Maybe if I lied… "Answer me, boy!" He came down the stairs quickly, and I stood unmoving.

"I was, um. I was just taking care of the body, sir. I couldn't sleep and decided to do tomorrow morning's work early—" He took me by the shoulders and shook me, and I stared down at the floor.

"Don't lie to me! What have you _done_? Where is she?" He shouted, and I didn't know how to answer him. I just wanted be somewhere else, anywhere else. "Take me to her." He decided at last and took his hands off of me. I stumbled a few steps backwards, and he pushed my back toward the embalming room. I nodded shakily and walked through the door, then toward the cellar door. I could almost tell his surprise as I went on to the backyard, but he followed me without saying a word. It seemed like an eternity had passed by the time we got there. Left in the place of the body was a steaming pile of bones, with small remains of cloth around the blackened spot on the forest floor. I could sense that her spirit had moved on, she was not there anymore. Under different circumstances, I might've felt overjoyed at this. But all I could do was stare down at the ground and shut my eyes.

Ramsey Aickman had probably never been so outraged. "What are we to do now, boy, eh?" He asked me, quietly so that no one could over hear. But with the tone he was using, he might as well have been shouting right in my ear. "Her family has scheduled for a séance tomorrow evening. I expect you to double-cross them, and do it well, do you hear me?" I could do nothing else but nod my head and agree. I avoided eye contact.

He stared me down good for a few seconds, before finally telling me to clean it up. "I want this gone by morning, understand? You'll find a shovel behind the house. Hustle!"

I followed Aickman all the way to the house, listening as he grumbled about all his "lost work". He pointed me to a shovel before walking into the door and slamming it behind him. I took the shovel and an old cloth garbage sack and head out to the woods again. I pushed all the bones in using the shovel, since they were still hot, and was able to return back to the house around four in the morning. I left the bag in a corner in the morgue and trudged up the stairs, now thoroughly exhausted. I laid on my bed, and the last thing I thought of was how that girl was finally free. No amount of punishment from Ramsey Aickman could take that small joy away from me.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning was precisely what I predicted it to be. Aickman woke me around seven in the morning, and gave me ten minutes to shower and get dressed. It felt good to get out of my ratty clothes and into a fresh pair of trousers, but I couldn't help but remain rigid as I bathed. I knew Aickman would still be all wet about the night before, and things were going to be tense and uncomfortable all day long. It was Friday, so our "spiritual evening" started at three. Maybe he would think that was punishment enough.

But it wasn't, of course. I went without breakfast and when lunchtime came, I went without it, too. I was allowed to drink water, Aickman would bring me down a glass whenever he took a break. But that was about it.

Finally, afternoon came. It was two-forty-five when Aickman came downstairs and blankly told me to go upstairs and prepare for company. I fixed my hair and washed my face with a wash cloth, then dressed in nicer apparel, suited for company. I put on a suit and tie, with a vest underneath my suit coat. Thirty minutes later, Aickman called up to me. The words I dreaded hearing each week.

"Jonah, boy! We have company." He said with that phony kind voice that he used when somebody might be listening.

"Coming, sir." I called back down, trying not to sound too phony myself. I left my room and walked down the stairs to meet our company. There were two men, one older and one younger, and a woman who I assumed was the older man's wife.

"Jonah," Aickman told me with a polite smile. "This is the Bentz family. Introduce yourself, don't be rude."

I nodded and bowed once at the family. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm so very sorry for your loss, and I hope that we can be of some assistance with your grieving." I told them, and tried not to make it sound as mechanical as it felt. I said it every time, to every family, by rule of Aickman. They all seemed to buy it, though, and smiled at me.

"Of course, young man. I suppose we'll see, then, won't we?" The Father said, and the Mother dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Indeed we will! You won't be disappointed." Aickman said, and then led the way into our séance room. It was decorated with sheets hung all around, with a round table that had a candle right in the center. The room was like my own personal hell, though everyone else seemed amused by it. They took their seats around the table, all but Aickman. He stood behind his camera and stared at me through his spectacles. I tried not to let my nervousness show through as I seated myself at the head of the table and settled in. It was rare that I remained fully conscious of my words or actions during a séance. How could I be sure that I hoodwinked them into thinking they were speaking to their daughter? She passed on, I could not reach her anymore. One of the other spirits would simply have to do. I prayed that they were feeling cooperative, though it was unlikely.

"Let us join hands," I told them and waited patiently as they all set down their purses and hats and took each other's hands. I held the hand of the mother and the younger man, who I assumed was the deceased's brother. "Lets all be quiet around the table, try and empty your minds of all thoughts and even your heart rates." I added in. That part was purely for Aickman's satisfaction, as well. I tried to pass it off as legit, and again, they seemed to buy it easily enough. It was only necessary for me to be the one calming myself and staying quiet, so I tried to do that. They all stared at me expectantly while I worked at calming my nerves, and eventually Aickman said my name in a low voice. I looked up at him, then back down at the table. "Close your eyes, please." I told them in a small voice. They obeyed, and I did so myself. Behind my eyelids, I could see the faces. Faces of the tormented, of all the souls we corrupted. I did exactly what I hated to do the most, that being giving myself in to them. Letting them speak to, or through me. One by one, they fished around in my consciousness. I tried to find somebody willing to help me, one soul who knew that this wasn't my desire.

She was a young soul, no older than seven years old. Though her spirit faced the same suffering as the rest, she was still pure. I felt my hands begin to shake as she invited herself into my mind, and tried to force the rest out. They filled my mind with agony and torture, refusing to come out. I felt my head shake now as I tried hard to make just the young girl come in, and the rest stand aside. Eventually, I succeeded. And that was when I felt my consciousness slip away. The young girl seemed eager enough to help me, so I let go of myself and let her take over. I could almost see a smile on her face, and though her eyelids were removed, skin written into with a knife and body drained of blood like the rest; I could see the beauty there.

When I came back to myself, I could still hear the voices of the spirits. A splitting migraine was growing, starting at my temples and making it's way down the back of my skull. I was no longer holding hands with the family, though they still sat around the table. They were gathering their things, wiping tears from their faces. The woman was fixing her makeup with the handkerchief.

"Outstanding, outstanding. We've heard from our dear girl." The mother was weeping, and the brother added in;

"And she is at peace." He sighed and rose from his seat. I glanced at Aickman, who looked pleased, and I wondered if the little girl had helped me after all. The family reached out to shake hands with me, and I bowed my head and thanked them for coming. They all left the room, murmuring things to each other and exclaiming how fascinating that had been. I went to the stairs and sat on them as Aickman ushered them out. The migraine grew worse.

"Attaboy, son! They never even guessed it." He told me just after the door closed. He only called me 'son' when I'd just done something to make him happy, or bring him good fortune. It made the word feel like a plague to me. I used to daydream about a Father-figure one day calling me son; Aickman gleefully destroyed that dream for me.

"I'm glad I did well, then, sir." I answered, not bothering to attempt a smile. He frowned as if I'd just ruined a good joke of his, then brushed off his coat.

"You look awful, boy. You should go and clean up. We'll have more company within the hour." He said sternly, and then walked off toward the séance room. I felt my stomach growl with hunger, and tried without success to ignore it. I walked up the stairs back to my room and sat down on the small chair that stood next to my dresser. I'm not sure why, but Eloise entered into my mind at that moment. I began to wonder how she was doing, three years into her life without me in her house. I wondered if she had wed, or taken in any more children. And then I thought about the last thing she'd said to me before driving away… Did she truly have a good feeling about my life at Ramsey Aickman's funeral home, or was that just a bunch of hogwash to stop me from crying or trying to follow her? My stomach growled again, and I felt a sudden rush of ill will toward the woman. It truly was her fault that I was there that day, in pain and hungry. Stuck in the upper bedroom of the hell house like some sort of animal, awaiting to be shown for money. Maybe she wasn't as good a woman as I thought she was. And I knew I'd feel bad for thinking that way later on. But at that moment I could think of nothing more that I wanted to do than just run away.

"I realize this is a hard life, Jonah. But understand that a lot of boys like yourself have it much worse. You say you'd rather live on the streets, but you don't have any idea! You'll die without me, Jonah. Nobody will take you in, and no one will want to feed you. You'll starve in the streets of Goatswood." Aickman had told me. Those words haunted me to no avail since the day he'd spoken them to me. It was the night that we did our first séance, almost exactly one year since I'd arrived. The pain of it all got to be too much and, not knowing any better at the time, I'd shouted in Aickman's face. I told him how badly it hurt, and how much I hated it there. It was nothing but work all day, and restlessness all night. I was thirteen years old, yet I cried like a child. Maybe I even secretly hoped that Aickman would change from then on or at least give me a hug. Any sort of sign that it would be okay. That was when my very last hope was put out. Aickman would never be a father to me… No man would. No woman would ever want to call me her own, and no other children would play with me. I would not have a dog to sleep at the foot of my bed at night, or a horse that I could ride. The only education I would ever receive would be the old books that Aickman put in front of me. He bought a lot of eighth and ninth grade schoolbooks; simply so that I could take the tests that the state gave every family and pass them. Next year, I could legally stop doing schoolwork, so not even that small distraction would be there.

I sat on my bed, shamelessly drowning myself in my own problems until Aickman called up the stairs once again. That same tone, same phony attitude, saying the same thing.

"Jonah! We have company. Come introduce yourself."

I went downstairs and smiled falsely, once again. Another family, another séance, more pain. At least I was going to get dinner at the end of all of it.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, I awoke to a smell that I hadn't smelled in a long time. Eggs and bacon. There was a warm aroma of it, wafting throughout the entire house. I threw my legs off the side of the bed and yawned once. I'd never known Aickman to cook himself breakfast… he was more of a cold cereal, or a sandwich kind of person. If he did anything fancy at all, he heated himself soup. But a hot breakfast? My stomach growled as I took in another whiff of the food. _Don't kid yourself, Jonah. He isn't making it for you._ I told myself. I indulged in the smell as I got dressed in trousers and a cotton shirt, with suspenders. I barely wasted time fixing my hair or splashing my face with cold water before jogging down the stairs. Even if I wasn't getting a part of the hot breakfast, the smell made me starving. I was willing to eat about anything, as long as it filled me up.

I was surprised by who I saw standing at the stove. It certainly was not Aickman. For a moment, I thought that I was looking at the swaying form of Eloise Burns, cooking breakfast at the stovetop; but on closer inspection, the two women didn't look very much alike at all. This lady was taller, a bit thinner, with blond hair pulled back into a bun and a headband across the top of her head. She must have been somewhere in her thirties. She wore no makeup, but she looked pretty enough without it. She wore a baby-blue blouse, with a long flowing skirt and a white cotton apron tied around her waist. As she cooked, she hummed an infectious happy song.

I stood there for a few seconds until she noticed me, and when she did, she spun around. The surprised expression only lasted on her face for a fraction of a second, and a splendid smile replaced it.

"You must be Jonah. I'm sorry if I've startled you, I suppose Mr. Aickman must not have told you I was coming." She said. I shook my head back and forth, unsure of what to say. When she realized I wasn't going to say anything, she continued. "I'm Mrs. Doris O'Connell; the new maid for Mr. Aickman's house. And also the cook, clearly." She laughed a motherly sort of laugh as she regarded the sizzling bacon in the pan. "I'm sorry, you must still be a little balled up from sleep. Take a seat, young Jonah. I've just finished breakfast."

I was still in a bit of shock as I sat down at the table and pushed my chair in. I glanced around a few times, trying to find Aickman, but he was nowhere to be seen. And then I remembered that it was Saturday, and nearly every Saturday morning, he went to go about errands in town. He wouldn't be back for a while. It felt odd, having someone else but Aickman in the house at such an hour, but I couldn't deny how good the breakfast smelled. I didn't have to wait long before Doris set a warm plate in front of me, with steaming eggs, and bacon that was still popping.

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Doris." I said in almost absolute astonishment. How long had it been since I had a hot breakfast? I couldn't even remember. I picked up my fork and was about to dig in when Mrs. Doris cleared her throat. I looked back over my shoulder at her, and she was in the middle of pouring a glass of milk.

"Did you forget your prayers, young man?" She asked, and suddenly I felt abashed. I hadn't been reminded of that since I was in Eloise's care. I nodded and turned back to my meal, dropping my fork and bowing my head. I said a silent prayer, so quickly that I could barely even make out the thoughts, then my eyes flew open and I took the first bite of eggs. They burned my tongue, but tasted so delicious that I hardly cared. Mrs. Doris set a glass of milk next to my plate, and I hurried to swallow in order to thank her. "Thank you so much." I said, again, and she waved her hand dismissively.

"Enough thanking, dear! Dig in." She smiled, and then wandered off toward the sink to wash up a few dishes that had piled up from Aickman's meals. I finished my whole meal in a matter of minutes, then washed it down with the glass of milk.

Mrs. Doris dropped a few pieces of buttered toast on my plate as soon as I finished my milk, and I thanked her again. I felt her eyes on me as I hurriedly ate the first piece. "We aren't going to run out of toast, you know." She teased lightly, but I could sense no admonishment in her tone. I was about to answer her, and apologize for being so rude, but the kitchen door that led outside swung open at that moment. I quickly wiped the crumbs off of my face with the cloth napkin next to my face and stood up from my seat, expecting with every fabric of my being that it would be Aickman, home early from errands. But again, I was surprised. A young girl, about my age, stood in the doorway. She looked a little bit like Mrs. Doris, but just enough to tell that they were somehow related. She was skinny, but not scrawny, wearing a white blouse and a pair of tan trousers and white sandals. She had light brown, long hair that was tucked behind her ears and held back with a thick black headband. She had undaunted hazel eyes that shone with curiosity. I tried not to stare, so I looked down almost immediately.

"Sorry," She said in a clear, melodic voice. "I must have startled you." I shook my head and sat back down, feeling mortified.

"Nonsense. I just thought you were someone else." I answered. My voice sounded so awful in my ears when compared directly to hers.

"Jonah, I'm sorry once again! I forgot to mention that my daughter came with me today. School is out for spring, you see. My husband is at work all day, so she had to come with me. I do hope that's okay."

I looked up at Mrs. Doris and managed a smile. I hardly felt like I had any authority to tell her it was okay. I just wondered if she had already told Aickman… Would he approve of it? She must not have known how things were around here if she was making sure it was okay by _me_.

"It's fine by me. You'll have to ask Mr. Aickman, though." I tried to say it as politely as I could. She nodded as if she expected that, and then she turned her head to look at her daughter.

"Virginia, dear. Introduce yourself." Mrs. Doris said and motioned toward me with her hand. I felt my stomach take a dive as her daughter looked at me with those intriguing eyes.

"Sure, Mama." She told her mother, and then gracefully crossed the kitchen. I stood up from my chair again and bowed my head to her. She curtseyed playfully in response, then offered her hand to shake mine.

"My name is Virginia." She told me with a contagious smile. I smiled back.

"I'm Jonah. It's a pleasure to meet you." I shook her hand, and she waited a few seconds before pulling away. Her forehead puckered as if she were deep in thought for less than a second. Then she lifted her eyebrows and opened her mouth as if to ask a question, but seemed to think better of it and sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your breakfast. Do continue." She said, and then quickly made her way out the back door before I could tell her that it was more than alright.

I sat back down and finished my toast a little less hurriedly, chewing each bite with care now as I thought. Mrs. Doris continued happily at the dishes, humming a song as she did so. After a few minutes, I stood and handed her my dishes. I thanked her again for the breakfast, and she shook her head.

"You needn't thank me so much, dear! Do you know if Mr. Aickman will be back before lunchtime?"

I shook my head. "No, ma'am. He's usually gone until early afternoon on Saturdays." She nodded in agreement and glanced out the window at Virginia, who was climbing one of the oak trees toward the back of the yard.

"She is quite an explorer, huh? Most girls would be powdering their noses or reading a book in the grass." She murmured, but didn't seem like she was saying it in a way like she was dissatisfied with the way her daughter was. I didn't know what else to do, so I just nodded.

"Is she bored? I don't have any work to do until Aickman gets back. I could find something to keep her busy, if you think she'd like that." I offered.

"Work? Horsefeathers!" She scoffed, seeming surprised. She got over it quickly though and replied; "If you aren't doing anything, of course feel free! Don't bother yourself, though, hon."

The idea that spending time with Virginia was a bother seemed more like 'horsefeathers' to me than work did, but I let that slide. "Thank you, ma'am." I told her and went out the back door, wandering through the backyard toward the tree that Virginia was in. By the time I got there, she was way up in it. I squinted in the sunlight as I looked up at her.

"Hello, Virginia." I called, and she jumped a little. She settled down onto a thick branch and looked down on me, beaming.

"Jonah! Did you enjoy your breakfast?" She asked, and I nodded a yes. "Good. My mom's a great cook, huh?" She jumped down onto a lower branch, then grabbed one and swung down with just her arms. With a little bit of difficulty, she swayed until her legs touched a branch that would support her. By then, she was only a few feet above the ground. Her face was almost level with mine. She sat down on a branch again and held onto one above her head with both hands. "Something I can help you with?"

I couldn't help but grin, and again found myself staring into her hazel eyes. I looked away, around at the lawn for a few seconds, but eventually turned back to her. "Not really. I just thought you looked like you wanted to say something inside. But maybe I was wrong…" I said, barely able to muster the courage to say it. Her eyebrows mashed together again, that same expression, and I spoke again. "See? Like that. You don't gotta beat around the bush, you know." I told her, then wandered to a low branch on the tree and grabbed it with both hands, lifting myself up. I put my feet on the tree and walked up it until I could pull myself into a sitting position on a sturdy branch. Virginia still hadn't spoken, so I glanced over at her.

"Promise you won't get mad, Jonah?" She surprised me by asking, but she looked genuinely concerned.

"Mad? Of course not." I answered assuredly, picking at the bark on the tree. A few more seconds of silence passed before she finally spoke up.

"Why do you call your Dad 'Mr. Aickman'? What's wrong with _Dad_?" She asked. As promised, I didn't get angry. But I did feel just the slightest bit depressed, or maybe a little revolted.

"Oh." I said. "That's easy… He isn't my Dad." I told her and shrugged. She turned her eyes away from me.

"Oh." She repeated, seeming embarrassed. "I'm awful sorry. I didn't know."

I hated to see her sad, so I was quick to assure her. "Don't be ridiculous… You can't be expected to know that." I said, and smiled. I was surprised that it came easily. She looked at me and grinned back. For the first time in a long time, I felt whole again. I felt _well._ For a little while, I was able to let loose and just smile, with somebody who knew how to smile back. Virginia and I sat quietly in the tree for a few long moments, but it wasn't awkward. It was a comfortable sort of silence, like both of us were getting used to being with each other. I looked to the kitchen window, where I could see Mrs. Doris cleaning up the dusty places where Aickman and I had neglected them. And in that moment, I felt normal.

But I'd seen enough in my life to learn that all good things have to come to an end, one way or another. Virginia and I hadn't spent more than a quarter of an hour together before her mother, Mrs. Doris, opened the back door to the house and beckoned Virginia to join her. Her expression was grim, eyes dark. I hardly recognized her as the bubbly maid who had fixed me a nice warm breakfast. Virginia seemed to pick up on her Mother's mood quickly.

"Wait here, I'll be back." She told me, suddenly bleak as she jumped out of the tree and bounded across the lawn barefoot. Her sandals were left behind, sitting beneath the tree where she'd kicked them off from high up. I waited, as she asked, for well over thirty minutes. By then, the sun was higher in the sky, and I could tell it was nearing noon. I awkwardly came down out of the tree and walked toward the house, hands stuffed in my pockets. I could tell all was quiet in the kitchen as I wandered up the back steps. And when I pushed through the screen door, I could see the kitchen lights were off. The table was cleaned off, dishes done and sat aside to dry. The thin linen curtains billowed inward, moved by the spring breeze that came in from the open windows; the only movement in a house that suddenly seemed frozen in time.

After a few seconds of staring around in bewilderment, I noticed a piece of paper on the table. I walked toward it and read the elegant script written on the top corner.

"_Dearest Jonah, I'm so sorry that we've left without even saying goodbye. I just can't have my daughter exposed to such witchcraft… I truly had no idea._

_Regardless, I wish you all the best._

—_Mrs. Doris O'Connell"_

I pictured my heart as an empty attic, filled with dusty old relics that really meant nothing to me or anyone else anymore. Then came this morning, with the warm breakfast, Mrs. O'Connell and Virginia. Virginia was a light bulb in that attic. Small, but bright, and hung right in the middle. Shining a little light on things that once meant something to me before, and illuminating old emotions that I thought I'd put away for good. Reading that note, I felt the light bulb go out. The attic was dark and empty again, meaningless and morose. I was judged, once again, for being someone who I didn't want to be and doing something I did not want to do.


	5. Chapter 5

Aickman returned home shortly after Mrs. Doris's departure, and found me sitting in the parlor staring at nothing in particular.

"You're not sick, boy? You look unwell." He noticed as he walked in, hanging his coat and hat on the rack.

"No, sir." I told him, though I was beginning to feel ill. It wouldn't do any good to tell him that. As expected, he barely noticed my answer.

"Wonderful. Well, then. Downstairs we go." He said, and down we went. After that, not a single word was spoken between us for several hours. It was the same old work. A funeral was to come through the next day, and they did not want to see their beloved again. Aickman was giddy at that fact. We removed the body from it's casket and replaced it with a dozen sandbags, just enough to make it convincingly heavy. When he finally spoke, he was removing the clothes and jewelry from the body.

"I noticed the new maid isn't around. Did she say anything to you?" He asked, leaning over the body we'd just removed from the coffin. Another one laid in the far side of the room on a dreadful metal table with a drain, and a tub beneath it. The blood drained from the body, slowly. The sound made for a spine-chilling background noise.

I cleared my throat before replying to Aickman, having not spoken for some time. "Um, yes, sir. She left a note saying she didn't want her daughter exposed to such… Practices." I said hesitantly, unsure of whether or not this would upset him. "She must've seen the séance room." I added in, for good measure. He knit his eyebrows and looked over me, and then back down to his work.

"Daughter, eh?" He asked in a voice that made a whole different kind of fear wash through me. He looked up at me and chuckled, a creepy sort of sound that I did not often hear. All I could do was nod my head once, and pray that he would drop the subject. "Yes, well. I suppose she was quite a gem." He appended. "Did you speak with her?"

I didn't want to say anything to him about it, still holding onto the feeble hope that he might stop talking about it. I stared down into the open and lifeless eyes of the body in front of me.

"Oh come on, boy! Level with me, man to man. You're all goofy for her, aren't you?" My stomach dropped. I wondered if he had hit a joint while he was out on errands, as he did on very rare occasions. I could think of no other reason for him to be smiling disturbingly as he walked away from the gurney and wandered around, cleaning up random things about the morgue. However, the question he asked next surprised me even more.

"Did you neck with her, then? Get the worth out of her before they left?" He asked happily, back faced toward me as he rinsed some tools in the sink. I was conscious of the way blood rushed to my cheeks, a deep red blush that I hoped would go away before he could see; and felt not only a little nauseous at his words, but angry as well.

"Sir." I objected. It wasn't very bold or loud, but compared to the way I usually responded to jabs from him —apologizing for whatever I could, or attempting to ignore it— I felt like I'd just reprimanded him. And apparently, he felt that way too. When he turned to look at me over his shoulder, his expression was no longer thinly pleased, but disappointed and maybe a little taken aback.

"Don't be so stiff with my humor, Jonah. Can't you take a joke?" He asked seriously as he returned to his place across from me on the opposite side of the gurney. I shrugged lightly, unwilling to give in and say sorry just yet. I could see what happened next coming a mile away. Aickman's eyes turned hostile for a fraction of a second, and I reflexively jumped backwards as he lurched forward and reached for my shirt. His hand grasped at open air, and I stood a few feet away. I tried to keep my breathing level and stared at him. "Don't you get an attitude with me, boy." He spat the last word as if it were a curse. I backed up one step, and then another. I could see his eyes gauging whether or not I'd actually leave his presence on my own accord. I paused, and he looked satisfied with the assumption that I would not go.

And that's when I ran. I spun around on my heels and took the old wooden steps two at a time until I got to the top. I heard him clambering up them behind me, and took a right toward the stairs to the second floor. They were behind me before a few seconds had passed. Nearly slipping on the sharp turn into my bedroom, I scrambled in and slammed the door shut behind me. There was a few seconds of silence before he was pummeling the other side of my door, shouting my name repeatedly.

"Jonah! You come out this instant, you think you can run away from me? _Jonah!_" He shouted, and I knew by the way he was shouting that he must not have been completely sober. That or he was going a little off the track. My room did not have a lock on the door, so I pressed my back to it and braced my shoes against the hardwood. His attempts to get in became more and more inconsistent and eventually he stopped altogether. I heard him grumble angrily as he made his way down the stairs again. Once I was sure he was gone, I stepped away from the door and walked over to the chair next to my dresser, a little unsteady. I hadn't even realized that my eyes were teary until I leaned my head down and put my face in my hands. It wasn't long before I could feel my hands were noticeably damp. I thought of Eloise, again. But even more so, I thought of Virginia and Mrs. Doris. If they had stuck around to understand, maybe they could have helped me. I might've gotten out of this hell house, once and for all. I could have lived with them, or nearby. Gotten a job and a house, and eventually a family. It seemed as if my last chance of a normal life had gone out the window. Maybe another would come, I tried to tell myself. After all, before Mrs. Doris arrived I wouldn't have ever guessed that Aickman would hire a maid. Among other things, I pondered that as I braced my chair against the doorknob to keep it shut and laid on my bed. It couldn't have been later than seven, but I fell asleep before long. I dreamt a nightmare that had plagued my mind for a long time starting a little over five years ago, just after my parents passed. Essentially, it was a replay of my their gruesome death. A car crash that occurred as they were on their way to the grocery store… It was a trip that I was supposed to go on, but I was being fussy, as most ten-year olds are sometimes, and refused to leave. I used to think I was lucky for that rebellious decision, but now I'm not so sure.

I woke in the morning feeling like I hadn't gotten any sleep at all. My throat was dry and scratchy, and my eyes reddened and sore. I sat on my bed, watching the sun rise out my window for a long time as I thought about how I was going to face Aickman again. It was clear that I would not get a meal that day, not after a breakfast such as yesterday's. And if I had any chance of leaving the house at all, to swim in the pond nearby or ride my bike to the store, it was gone now. What I had ahead of me was a day long of working in that mildew-infested old basement until I quite literally couldn't stand anymore. I briefly considered running away, but how could I? With Aickman downstairs, most likely in the kitchen and probably already watching me like a hawk… It'd be damn near impossible. But I doubted that he'd have a problem letting me starve to death if I simply didn't leave my room.

I packed a bag regardless of all my doubt. In it, I put the clothes that I wasn't already wearing (A pair of trousers, and my nicer clothes that Aickman bought me solely for séances). I packed my notebooks, where I occasionally wrote a journal, and my most recent schoolbook, too. After those things, I looked around my empty and disheartening room. There really was nothing else that I would want to bring, on the off chance that I did get out of the house. After standing and looking around for a few moments, thinking of leaving, a thought struck me and caused me to wander over toward my dresser. I pulled open the top drawer, and there were several items before me. One was a small oval-shaped frame, made of mahogany wood with a dusty glass plate over a monochrome photo. It was a portrait of the woman who I had severely bittersweet feelings toward… Eloise. No matter what she'd sentenced me to, I couldn't deny the fact that I loved her like a grandmother at one point. She fed me and gave me a warm bed, with pajamas and sheets and a promised breakfast in the morning. She took me in, a random skinny boy off the streets, with no knowledge of my history. She may not have been kind enough to ensure a good home for me, but she was kind enough to take me in in the first place. I felt an odd feeling at the back of my throat as I recalled all the awful things I'd thought of her, and immediately felt more comfortable putting the photo back face down in the drawer. The next item was a photo without a frame, rectangular and torn at the edges. It was of a tall man with dark, short hair and a muscular, but skinny body shape. He was wearing a suit and tie, with a fedora that had a single brown feather erect on the side. That was my Dad. Standing next to him in ornate attire was a woman with dark brown hair and striking blue eyes. She was shorter than my Father, but still tall. She had a thin figure that a black polka-dotted dress wrapped perfectly around. She was my Mom. In between the two was a boy, no older than seven, with shaggy black hair like his Dad and blue eyes just like his Mother. That was me, the last puzzle piece in our humble little family. It was the only photo I had of them, and the only one ever taken of all three of us. I stared at their faces for a short amount of time, beginning to grow uneasy at the way that they were unfamiliar to me. They were all strangers, including me in the middle. That was somebody that I once was, a child that didn't know anything about the world. And as for my parents, I couldn't see them as my parents anymore. They were people whom I once lived with, and do not anymore. Don't get me wrong… I loved them, and still do with all my heart. But when life continues to throw the present in your face, it's hard to dwell too much on the past. In the drawer there were also two watches, one suited for a man and one suited for a woman, that belonged to my parents. It was one of the few things that I stole and ran with before the adoption agency could come and take me to their home. There was also an old leather wallet that I couldn't remember where it came from, but didn't use anyways. I wasn't sure why I kept it around… Perhaps there just was no reason to rid of it.

I slid the drawer shut, leaving all those things in it. If I left, I was going to start over. There would be no need to remember these things.


	6. Chapter 6

I pushed my small bag of possessions under my bed just in case and tentatively crept my way to the door. I removed the chair and set it off to the side, and then pulled the door open. The hinges squeaked like they always did, a familiar noise against dead silence in the rest of the house. I walked out, trying to make my footsteps sound casual as I made my way down the stairs. I became aware of the way my chest sunk in when I neared the kitchen, where Aickman was bound to be. I rounded the corner and appeared in the doorway, anything but ready to face what I knew was coming.

But Aickman simply looked up from his cereal at the table to give me a strange look, and then stared back down at the newspaper. He surprised me even more by speaking in a leisurely tone.

"The family we assisted on Friday evening," He began, jabbing a finger at an article on the newspaper. "the father writes for the local paper. We have an entire article just for Aickman's funeral home. I've already gotten four calls and it's not even noon!" He cooed, seeming like he was talking more to himself than he was to me. Then he turned his head and his eyes zeroed in on mine. They were wide, pupils distended. "You did a good job, my son. I'm proud of you."

The words felt hollow to me, despite his obvious struggling attempt to be kind. I just nodded and blinked a few times. "Thank you, sir." He smiled a papery smile and looked back down, taking another bite of his cold cereal.

Standing there in the doorway, I didn't know what to do. I certainly didn't want to head down to the morgue any earlier than I had to. "I'll be in the dining room, sir." I told him, and he waved a hand at me. I walked down the hallway and took a left into the dining room, which was connected to the kitchen. I could have walked past Aickman to get there, but I felt much safer taking a roundabout way in. I sat down in a chair, sure to place myself where I knew Aickman couldn't see me, and rest my elbows on the table. After a few minutes of near complete silence, I felt a cold sort of feeling through my chest and throat. I didn't have to look around long before I spotted the cause of the awful, familiar sensation. Sitting in the far corner of the room was a man who was not very tall, though he seemed very strong, with short dark hair and tan skin. He appeared to me in a way a little different than the rest… There was no demonic scrawl on his body, and his eyelids were in-tact. He didn't look very dead at all, in fact. I briefly considered the possibility that he was not someone who's body ever entered Aickman's morgue, but then decided that I most likely would not be able to see him if that were the case. He and I made eye contact for an immeasurable moment, glued there by the dubious hatred between us. I didn't hate him personally, I pitied him. But I hated how they made me feel and how they appeared to me, the way they struck absolute terror into my heart. And although there was unmistakable loathing in his eyes, I could tell he didn't completely despise me, either. Just what I helped do to him and all the rest.

"I'm sorry." I uttered at last, and my voice betrayed me by trembling. A pain much like a severe migraine flashed into my head, and I cringed. I squeezed my eyes shut and endured the pain as it lingered. "I really am." I whispered under my breath despite the agony. A few more seconds passed, and the pain faded away. I opened my eyes to see the man standing only a foot in front of me, looking down upon me. His eyes were filled with sadness, and it felt like it was more than I could comprehend. He didn't seem to hate me anymore, or at least not as much. Still, I felt the fear rise up in my chest and it made me want to cry like a child.

And then something happened that I did not expect. I'd been spoken to by spirits before, but never anything but obscene words and curses laced with my name and Aickman's. And if they did say anything else, it was never spoken but screamed. This time was so different. It was a whisper, barely prominent in the back of my mind. A broad man's voice so broken that he whimpered like an orphan child.

_Please, help us._

I knew what I had to do… But I also knew I could not do it. "Sorry." I repeated, and the spirit's eyes turned antagonistic. He shook his head, and then his image shimmered and disappeared. I got a sickening feeling in my stomach. They all hated me enough as it was… I didn't think it was possible to make them much more upset. But it seemed as if I just had.

"Did you say something, son?" Aickman asked innocently.

"No," I sighed. A few seconds passed, and he spoke with the stern voice that I knew well. The frail, half-crazy Aickman was gone at least for a while.

"Good, then. We have a funeral faction coming before long. Help me bring this casket up the stairs."

We both went downstairs to retrieve the ridiculously heavy coffin. We removed the sandbags, hoping it would help. But it still was so heavy that it seemed impossible for two men alone to carry it. Aickman put me at the end of it, of course, and he backed up the stairs as he held it up. "Come on, then, boy. Lift it higher, no. Not like that!" The casket fell against one of the stairs as I stumbled and it put a dent in the wall. "Imbecile!" He barked, and I rolled my eyes when I knew he couldn't see. After around ten minutes of struggle, though, we managed to get it up the stairs and into the parlor. Aickman had cleaned it up earlier that morning, obviously expecting that I wouldn't be downstairs soon enough to do it myself after last night's spat.

We both stood before the casket, catching our breaths from the effort. I had thought that he was over his little shout in the stairwell, but then he crossed the distance between us with two steps and slapped me across the face. I stared down at the carpet, not daring to ask him what the hell it was for.

"You'll pick up the pace from here on out, understand? You've been slacking off far too much, running your mouth like you own this home." He demanded, waving his hands as he spoke. I glared down at the carpet, trying to feign the notion that I wasn't afraid. My cheek stung. After a few seconds of rigid silence, I looked up at him. His outraged expression was nothing new, nor was the way his spectacles were inching down toward the end of his nose, and hanging off his face in a slightly crooked manner. But behind that old recurring scene, I could see spirits lingering around, pacing from one side of the room to the other. There were at least four or five, sauntering angrily back and forth. I could hear their livid murmuring, the way their rotting feet touched the floor. Their protruding eyes never left Aickman and I.

After a few seconds of watching them, I looked back to Aickman. "You'll go to your room, now." He commanded. "The first guests for today's funeral will be arriving at any moment. And you're going to stay there until the last one leaves. Got it?" I nodded, and stumbled out of the room. As soon as I was around the corner, I touched the spot on my cheek where it stung and kept my hand there. I passed by the stairway to the basement and paused, staring down into the darkness. A lit lantern was hanging at the top of the stairs. My stomach began to churn as my mind wandered the ideas or possibilities of what I could do. Throw the lantern and start a fire, yes. But Aickman would put out such a small fire before it could get far. If I could make it bigger, though—A fire too large for him to contain, and by the time the fire department arrived it would be too big for them as well— the spirits would be free, and I could be, too. I glanced over my shoulder toward the parlor, and then I quietly went down the stairs. In the morgue, I found many flammable liquids. But I only had so much room to carry them. I grabbed three, holding two under one arm and one in my hand, and then ran as quietly as I could back up the stairs, taking the lantern on the way. I snuck into the dining room, took a deep breath, and threw the first bottle against the wall that I knew bodies were concealed behind. The glass broke noisily and flammable oil splashed against the white wall. And that was when I knew I needed to start hurrying. I backed out of the room and threw one more at the floor, and as I was running toward the stairs, I threw the last one at the hall floor. Aickman was wandering toward the mess, having yet to see it, but he called my name angrily. "Jonah? What in God's name— " I was already up the stairs and running toward my room. I grasped the cloth bag under my bed and threw it over my shoulder, running out of my room with my lantern still in hand. But a few steps out, I paused.


	7. Chapter 7

I couldn't just leave the things from my drawer behind to burn, I thought. I set the lantern down and ran back in, panic rising in my chest as I reached under my bed and retrieved the bag I'd packed.

"Jonah, _Jonah!_" Aickman stormed from downstairs. I fled down the steps and threw the lantern desperately toward the doorway to the dining room. But that's when my plan fell through. The flame in the lantern was drown out by the oil, an occurrence that I did not expect to happen. The glass on the lantern broke against the hardwood and clattered into the puddle of chemicals in the hall. I could still run, I thought. I'd already attempted to save the spirits, and now I had to try to save myself. I frantically went at the doorknob, trying to turn it and pull the door open. Aickman had locked it. With shaking hands, I hastily tried to unlock the damnable thing. Aickman's shouts became louder and louder; "Jonah! Jonah! Where are you, son?" until they suspiciously stopped altogether. I had just about managed to disengage the lock when I heard Aickman's voice come from behind me, an outraged mutter from between his gritted teeth. "Come here!" Suddenly I felt his hand on my head, fingers clutching my hair and jerking my whole body backwards. I bit my tongue to keep from screaming as he dragged me backwards, one hand now pulling me by under my arm. The other still yanked my hair.

"I'm sorry!" I exclaimed desperately, trying to resist the urge to attempt getting back on my feet. My vision was all but tinted red by the pain from his hand on my hair.

"You're not leaving!" He ordered, and I could do nothing but wail another apology. I barely was able to process where we were going until his hand knotted tighter in my hair and he pulled me up onto my feet. Then he pushed me ahead of him, toward the basement stairs and shoved me until we were down them. Once we were in the morgue, he finally let go of my hair and walked away from me to kick the door shut. I panted and put a hand on my head, wincing. He paced back and forth in the room for an immeasurable moment before finally reaching in a drawer and pulling out a small metallic object. Vision still blurry, I had to stare and blink a few times before I realized what it was. A revolver pistol. My thoughts reeled and I took an instinctive step backwards as he stared down at the gun, seeming to make a decision in his mind. "You run from me in my own house, you steal the clothes I give you and try to run away! You trashed the dining room and hallway, threw such expensive chemicals!" The hand with the gun in it suddenly lifted, pointed directly at my head. I felt my jaw quiver, and clenched my teeth to try and stop it. After a few seconds, his finger trembled over the trigger, and then he lowered his hand to his side. He strode toward the door, past me, and I whirled around to continue facing him. "Perhaps you just need some time to think about how things are here, Jonah." He glowered at me as he opened the door and stepped outside the morgue. Despite wanting to protest, I stood still as he slammed the door shut and watched as he pulled a heavy metal desk from it's place against the wall and braced it in front of the door. "I offer him wealth, fame! A home to live in!" I could hear his muffled grumbles as he hurried up the stairs with the revolver in hand. I looked back over my shoulder at the bodies lined up on gurneys. For now they seemed lifeless. However, that was bound to change. I walked to the door and leaned my back on it, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor. I'd never been one to contemplate something as selfish as suicide, but I felt my willingness waver as I stared at Aickman's scalpel, resting on a table near a motionless body. All I could think of was how anything at all would be better, less painful than those souls raiding my mind one more time. As if to mock my wishes, it was then that they began to stir. Over a hundred cold spirits, practically made of nothing but bad energy, lurking around the room. I stared down at the floor, breathing heavy. Whispers crept into my thoughts, just an undertone to my own angry internal shouting. I couldn't make out their words yet, but it was only a matter of time. I could see them now, just pale outlines of human bodies. And then, as if they were knitting themselves out of the air itself, solid bodies began to appear standing in random spots around the room. There were men, woman, even children, of all heights and weights. The only thing they all had in common was a mutual hatred for Aickman and I, and the fact that every pair of distended eyes were locked on me. I forced myself to continue looking down at the concrete floor. "Just get away." I said between gritted teeth, feeling anger quickly overcome my fear.

_Help us._ One responded in my head, barely out of a whisper.

I shook my head once and squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to respond. The voice that I now realized belonged to a young female child repeated itself, this time with a voice like metal being dragged across stone. _Help us!_ She screamed. Just hearing the words in my head was like a razor blade being driven down my spine.

"I can't!" I said at last, and my eyes flew open. I could see the girl standing in front of me, flanked by two men. Behind them, dozens stared and rocked restlessly on their heels, back and forth. The girl must have been around three years old, with short blond hair that probably once was beautiful, but now it was tangled in knots and seemed cut in awkward places. She likely just learned how to talk in life, but her eyes seemed so much older. Her expression was far too sinister for a girl her age, and that seemed like it scared me more than any of the adults did. "I tried, alright? Don't act like you don't know, you've read my very thoughts!" I shouted at her, and she remained motionless. The whispers were an uncomfortable buzz in my head that I worked hard to ignore.

_Try harder_, One behind her suddenly said, and it felt like something inside me had snapped. I grabbed a small chair that was sitting by me and suddenly threw it overhand toward the crowd of ghouls. I expected it to go through them, but instead the man it was hurtling towards lifted a hand to block it. The chair impossibly broke into a dozen pieces and clattered noisily to the ground. I pulled my knees to my chest and put my head down, wanting more than anything to make them go away. But it was only a few minutes before the whispers in my head grew louder and louder, to a point where it was physically uncomfortable. Whispers became murmurs, which transitioned quickly to talking. Suddenly it was loud talking, like a group of drunk men trying to speak over one another, and before long they were full-blown shouts. Blood curdling screams that made my skin crawl and channeled a migraine into my temples. Soon I was laying on my side, curled up in a ball with my arms wrapped around my legs. At some point I began screaming just like the rest of them; crowded and yet completely alone.

Aickman found me later that night in the fetal position on the cold floor of the morgue, teeth chattering and sweat dripping down my forehead. I must have looked so awful that he seemed to forget he was mad at me at least for a little while, because he helped me stand up and assisted me up the stairs to climb into my own bed. The voices were back to a whisper in the back of my mind, but it was as if my ears were still ringing from the screaming. Any sound, any physical touch became painful. I scared the hell out of Aickman more than once on our way to the second floor of the house, wincing or shouting any time he would touch me. It seemed like an eternity had passed before I was finally laying in my bed, and once there I turned over to face the wall and stared at it, unwilling and afraid to close my eyes. I laid like that for a long time, and at some point Aickman brought up a sandwich and a glass of water. I didn't roll over to look at him, or even the food. I could eat it stale in the morning. Aickman's unspoken kindness remained just that; unspoken. He didn't say a single word the whole night, although he came in every two hours or so to see if I was alright. Some time around three in the morning I fell into a distressing and painful sleep that lasted until sunrise. And by then, I had given up on the concept of sleep and sat up in bed to eat the sandwich. Just as I expected, the bread was stale and the deli meat was room-temperature, but it felt good to have something on my stomach nonetheless. Although I felt somewhat better, my skin was still clammy and my head rang with the threat of a migraine. I stood and picked up the cloth sack I'd packed and took out a set of clothes. The sack had been thrown into my room, laying half-open by the wall. I assumed that Aickman took on the duty of returning my belongings the day before. I gathered the clothes and left my room, walking down the hallway toward the bathroom to wash up. A warm bath felt like it was just what I needed, but even sitting in the hot water for over ten minutes wouldn't make the chills go away. I climbed out of the tepid bathwater and took my time drying off with a towel. It was five more minutes before I finally left the bathroom, dressed in regular old clothes. I didn't really want to get my hopes up, but I was banking on the possibility that Aickman was still feeling conscience-stricken about the day before. If he was, it was likely that I could make myself something to eat. The chance of that alone had me jogging down the stairs and headed straight for the kitchen before I could even think of it too much. Aickman was there, of course, sitting at the kitchen table with a newspaper. When he looked up at me, he meagerly nodded his head. "You're feeling better?" It came out as more of a hopeful assumption than a question. It was nice that he asked, anyway.

"Yes, sir. Thank you." I responded, tucking my hands into my pockets. There was a few seconds of silence before he finally seemed to realize what I was hoping for.

"Oh, you're probably hungry! Right, right. Help yourself to whatever you like, Jonah." He said and stood up, wiping crumbs off of his lap. He carried a few dishes to the sink and set them down. "I've already finished my breakfast, I'll be downstairs." He added, tried for a pathetic smile, and then he left for the morgue. I felt like my jaw was about to drop in surprise. Maybe it even did, and whether or not Aickman saw didn't matter to me. What mattered was the pantry and cupboards before me, filled with food that was beckoning me by name.


	8. Chapter 8

Twenty minutes later, I'd eaten enough to feed two men. Aickman's pantry wasn't all that glorious. A few loaves of bread, but one was stale. There were cans of soup and vegetables, and burgers in the freezer. But I knew how to make none of this, so I settled for about four eggs and a few pieces of toast. I'd downed two glasses of milk before Aickman and work crossed my mind again. Reluctantly, I came to the decision that I should go downstairs and help him. He'd given me free reign over the kitchen and left the room… It was the least I could do. As it turns out, though, my struggle of a decision to give in and help him was inadequate. He sent me back upstairs immediately after I went down, bearing an expression that I couldn't decipher. Was he mad at me, or not? I surprised myself by feeling angry at him. Ramsey Aickman was a lot of things, but hard to figure out he was not. I usually knew when he was mad at me, when to stay away or when to insist upon work. Now I hadn't a clue. He seemed like he was tense, but felt the need to put on a show of kindness. As if he were suffering something that he wanted to go at alone. I wandered around the house after returning upstairs, for lack of nothing better to do, but it didn't keep me busy for very long. The spirits still were stirring in every room of the house, threatening another incident such as yesterday's. Since I couldn't even stomach the thought of going through that again, I went outside and around to the back of the house where an old bicycle was resting. The handlebars and base were strung with spider webs, the bike itself splattered with mud. The wheels were caked with clumps of leafy, muddy mush from a long winter of going without use or a good cleaning. On top of all that, the poor rusty old chain didn't look up to much work. Still, I did my best to wipe all of the crud off of the bike, and in the end it didn't look half-bad. Functional, even. I mounted the bite and sat down on the seat, one hand on the handlebars and the other resting indifferently on my leg. In those thirty seconds before I took off, I weighed my chances. Would Aickman be upset if I left without asking? Normally it would be a flat-out yes, but like a lot of things at that moment, I had no clue. At last, I decided that I might just get back before he even noticed I was gone and continued to tell myself that until I was too far away to come back. I kicked the bike away from the house and stood on the pedals as I drifted down the driveway. Once I hit the road I started to pedal, growing more and more in velocity as I headed toward town. The fresh air was almost surreal to me, having been in that damned house all the time. It was the first time I left the property for some time, and even longer since I did so on my own accord. Aickman tended to drag me along when he had a road trip, and it was even worse than being inside the house. Sure, there were no spirits. But it was Ramsey Aickman time, 24/7. Same car, same hotel room, same everything. At least I had a room with a door at the house.

But now, it was so wonderfully painless. The wind through my hair was refreshing, the clearness of my thoughts unreal. No whispers, and there was nobody in my head but myself. No dead bodies surrounding me, no fingers sticky with blood. Just a country road, long and fairly straight, with maple and oak trees on both sides that swayed in the warm wind. Grassy fields spread out beyond the trees, most of them lined with a whitewash fence. I craned my neck to see cattle in one field with horses neighboring them in the next. Further in the flat pastures there was a fence that held some sort of smaller livestock, but I couldn't see what it was. I turned the bike onto the sidewalk as a car driving away from town came from ahead of me. Ten minutes of riding my bike at a leisurely pace down the sidewalk and I had passed most of the farmlands. There were houses now, large and grand with big yards. It was a lovely day out, so many were outside with their children or pets. A few older couples sat on their porches, pointing around and making tranquil conversation. Then the houses grew closer together, a little less grand in size and upkeep. Now I couldn't see any fields at all, and I knew I was nearly to town. I forced myself to turn around right there, turning onto the road for a moment while I switched directions. If Aickman started looking for me, he might get upset. And it wasn't like I had the money to pay for anything in town, anyways. I pulled back up the curb and onto the sidewalk and began a bit of a faster trip toward the house. Homes spread farther apart once again, yards turned into fields and fields turned into farmlands. Past the grazing animals I went, none of them bothering to look up at me, and all too soon I was back _home._ I thought the word with disgust as I walked the bike up the driveway. I hadn't even finished putting the bike away before the voices crept back into my mind, and I could already see them watching me through the windows. I took more time than necessary to put the kickstand up and settle the bike in, but eventually I had to walk up the front porch steps and go in that door. Before closing it, I glanced around the yard for a few seconds, listening to the sounds of the birds in the trees and the cars driving by on the road. Far off, I could hear the wind gently roar through the trees of the woods. A horse neighed from somewhere in the east. I sighed and closed the wooden door then, leaving all those sights and sounds behind me.

Four days passed, and it was just about time for another "spiritual evening". The first two days, Tuesday and Wednesday, went by all too quickly. It wasn't until Wednesday night that Aickman dropped the whole kind act and returned to his embittered old self. Thursday and the beginning of Friday were grueling, filled with work that I hadn't missed a bit during my short break. More funerals, more stealing bodies. Scalpel, scrawl, demonic curses straight from the deepest pit of hell. How Aickman came to master it, I never will know. Ever more the sleepless nights, whispers and screaming. And last but certainly not least; more pain. It was less than a half an hour to the first séance of the evening. Four people who were coming to contact their lost baby boy. His body had come through Aickman's house weeks before, in which time Aickman had encouraged them to schedule a séance. They were a religious family, or at least attended church service weekly, and so they were hesitant to stoop to such levels. "Take your time with this decision," Aickman had told them, spreading his hands as he spoke and feigning concern. "I know how hard this must be, but I can promise you that just one séance here will ease all your troubles. Who doesn't want to say one last goodbye?"

It took some time to sink in, but a week ago they had called and asked for the earliest possible appointment. And so they were coming before too long, and Aickman was giddy with joy, humming along as he covered his more recent project; a stocky man who seemed to have died with a permanent smirk. I never liked to look long at any dead body, but his I took extra care not to focus on. I stood at the sink in the morgue, already dressed in my nicer clothes as I cleaned the tools as Aickman had asked me to. The hot water ran pink as I rinsed the scalpel first, set it off to the side, and then cleansed a pair of scissors and a tool much like the scalpel but larger. I set those aside and took the last tool that he needed cleaning in my blood-tinted hands. The thing was gruesome, splattered with blood over the top side of it. And on the blade, there was a type of white powder that I couldn't quite identify. Leaning in closer, I ran my finger down the blade and examined the pink mush, blood mixed with the white powder, on my fingertip. My stomach twisted and I winced, immediately putting my finger and the blade under the running water. It was much too hot to be comfortable on my hand, but I left it there anyway and endured the pain. This was the bone saw, a tool I was fortunate enough to have missed Aickman ever using. I took a rag and began drying them, sure to be thorough. Last time I left one a little damp, it rusted and Aickman threw a fit. I grimaced as I remembered that, and before I knew it, Aickman was switching off the light above the center operating table and looking at me with a grim smile. My skin crawled.

"Let's go upstairs now, it's time."


	9. Chapter 9

The first guests were already at the door by the time we got up the stairs. I stood in the foyer and shook hands, like always, with the family. Here today was the mother of the young boy, who's name was Andrew Wilkinson. He was only two years old when he died in a very early stage of cancer. Nobody had seen it coming, they said. His mother was tall and thin, wearing a black flowing skirt that went down to her shins, and a dull red velvety blouse. Her hair was pulled up, and she had a weird sort of expression. I almost wanted to ask her if she was sure she wanted to do this, but Aickman would have killed me for that. Her eyes darted around the room, only pausing on Aickman and I when we shook hands with her and introduced ourselves. She nodded firmly when Aickman gave his condolences. Next in was another woman who was shorter and not nearly as thin. She was the mother's older sister, and Andrew's aunt. She wore an elaborate, up-market beaded dress with a hat that matched. In my opinion, she was far too dressed up for the occasion. Going by the pleased expression that she marched around with—always with her bust puffed out and head held high— I assumed that she took any opportunity she could to look fancier than everybody else. I shook her small, frail hand and she looked me with in the eye and gave me a satisfied sort of smile. Then she looked me up and down for a moment and went on to say hello to Aickman. Next in were too men, clearly uncomfortable. Whether it was with each other, the women, or the house itself I could not decide. The younger one shook my hand first, and said hello. He was a little pudgy in the face, and looked duly uncomfortable. His eyes ran all around the room, but always returned to his wife. He seemed, much like the first woman who had come in, to be having second guesses about his choice. Presumably, his wife must have made him come. The next man in introduced himself as the boy's grandfather. He had a receding hairline and ears like a chimpanzee, with a beard only slightly smaller than Aickman's. He was dressed up in a silky suit that probably cost more than all of my clothes combined. I wondered where the boy's Father was, or if he even had one.

The greeting was, as usual, utterly uncomfortable for me and I was glad when it was over. Not that what was coming next proved to be any better. We quietly moved into the séance room and it was just the same as when I saw it last. Gray curtains were still hung about for show, hanging from nails in the ceiling and over doorways. I pushed through them to get inside, leading everyone else in. Aickman trailed behind, like a sheepdog leading the herd. He closed the curtains behind us, and they all took their seats. Aickman lit the candle, something he usually did before anyone arrived, and then hastily stepped back behind that damned camera. The mother sat to my left, looking braver and more self-assured by the minute. And to my right was the uncle, who grew more worried and sweatier at about the same rate that the mother grew more poised. The uncle held hands with his wife, who held hands with the grandfather, and then it was back to the mother. I was at the head of the table, and after a few seconds passed of everybody settling in, they all slowly turned to me for what to do next. More so than usual, I got a sour feeling in my stomach. I glanced around at all the expectant faces before me. And regardless of how confident they tried to make themselves, all of them were at least a little nervous. That wasn't hard for me to see.

"Let's, um…" I said, trailing off as I lost the train of thought. The sinking feeling in my stomach grew a little more pronounced, as if it was trying to warn me of something that I couldn't see. I was aware of Aickman's eyes on me, warning me not to make a fool of him. "Let us join hands." I advised when the sentence finally came to me, and everybody looked a little displeased. Was that a sarcastic grin I saw on the aunt's face? I looked down at the table and continued, despite that feeling in my stomach growing more agitated. The notion moved to my chest and my heart pounded against my rib cage in response. "Please, let us all be quiet around the table. Empty your minds of all irrelevant thoughts, level your heart rates." _Nonsense!,_ I thought. A whisper from one of them crept into my mind then_—Help me. Please, help me—_ and I shivered. "Close your eyes." I spoke tentatively, hesitating with every second I could steal. I looked up at Aickman, who had his hands resting on his camera. Through his glasses, I could see his glaring eyes were fixed on me. I looked down, working hard to level my breathing, and Aickman said my name once. "Jonah." He frowned, and then repeated himself as if I couldn't hear the first time. "Jonah!" A little louder now, I heard the final warning in his tone and reeled, trying hard to make myself concentrate. A few of the sitters were sneaking glances at me and shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

"Close your eyes," I reminded them wryly, and they did so. I stared intently at the flame on the candle as it stood idly and swayed in whatever small brush of wind might come its way. Suddenly a voice screamed in my head, some soul trying to break through.

_Why!_ It screamed, and I winced. The woman's angry energy streaked through my mind. Hardly aware that I was squeezing the mother's hand a little harder, I searched for the Boy's spirit. _Sorry, sorry, sorry!_ I repeated in my head, praying to whatever God may listen that they would hear me. I didn't want to do this.

_Mommy?_ One of them said, and I could tell it was young Andrew Wilkinson. He slowly made his way through the angry ocean of the tormented, shining a little brighter than all the rest. Most spirits of children did. They never had a chance to get hardened by anything in the world, or really commit any sins that were all that awful. The rest of the spirits screamed, pounding against my mind, it seemed. They all wanted out, and if they couldn't make Aickman pay for what he did, I was going to have to do. At that point, I couldn't tell if my eyes were shut or not. Nor could I tell if it was me shaking, or the room. Maybe it was neither. Little Andrew worked harder to make his way, crying out all the more. _Mommy! Pap! Is that you? Help! _He yelled, and I wished more than anything that I could help him. Mommy and Pap sure as hell couldn't. The spirits seemed much more agitated than usual, a great body of souls that moved like an ocean during a storm.

_Last straw! We want out! Why us?_ They screamed, while the more selfish ones cried things like; _Help me! Leave them, I'm begging you! God, why?_ Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered how awful it must be on the other side_—_ or wherever they were_—_ that they all wanted out so bad. Was it eternal boredom, or was there pain? Maybe it was absolutely nothing. A wide margin of total oblivion. They worked harder, fought to get their turn inside my head. Every one of them wanted to make their presence known, and my mind couldn't possibly house them all. I hardly felt like I was in the room anymore, only able to see the dull grey curtains and surprised faces of the sitters through what seemed to be a black veil over my eyes. First I saw a screaming woman's face, and then I saw the flash of Aickman's camera. A thousand images of the souls' demises changed to the mother to the left of me, eyes shut tight with a greedy smile spreading across her face. I tried hard to get my consciousness back, now realizing that their rage was far too much for me. I'd have to fake a serious sickness, get out of séances for that night. The awful feeling in my stomach became ice cold, as if it were laughing in my face and telling me "I told you so!" I felt my teeth grit together as I tried to find myself again. Attempting to lift my hand, or back up and stand from the table was so much harder than it should have been. I couldn't find my arms, couldn't move the muscles. They twitched and thrashed against my will, and I felt like I was being drowned in a hurricane. Taken under by a wave and hopelessly fighting against it. It was a thousand to one, and it wasn't hard to tell which side was losing.

Suddenly I felt a hot feeling in my throat, like bile rising. That didn't surprise me. I felt like throwing up everything I'd ever eaten. But then the sitters gasped, a noise I was surprised to be able to hear through the screams ringing in my ears, and I caught the smallest glimpse of Aickman smiling.

It was then that I realized what the hot feeling in my throat was… Ectoplasm. Yet somehow, it was different than other times that this had happened. It hurt far worse, more like an intense pain than simply being horribly uncomfortable. I no longer could steal any glances at the room around me, as my vision was only black with ghostly white apparitions screaming back at me. Their screaming grew louder, more penetrating, and the last thing I heard was a laugh from one of the spirits. A maniacal, cold belly laugh that sent shivers down my spine. And then everything went black.


	10. Chapter 10

When I awoke, I immediately became aware of a burning smell in the air. My head throbbed mercilessly, but amazingly I could hear no voices. As I racked my brain to remember what had happened before I passed out, the smell became a little more pronounced. A sharp, hot odor that made my nostrils sting and my migraine flair. I sucked in a sharp breath and opened my eyes. I'd expected to see the ceiling of my bedroom, because if anything happened during a séance, usually Aickman at least helped me back up into bed… Mostly just because people were watching. But I was still in the séance room, that was for sure. I sat up and glanced around, wary now. It was at that moment when I saw them.

Crispy, burnt corpses were laying out around the room with smoke slowly rising from them, still sizzling with heat. The chairs that the sitters were in now were thrown backwards, the tablecloth was charred and the candle nowhere to be seen. Memories of the séance flooded back to me, and my migraine angrily throbbed at the reminder of how painful it had been. The mother, aunt, grandfather, uncle… I couldn't bring myself to believe that those faces I remembered had once belonged to these skeletal corpses. As I started to sit up, I got a horrible, churning feeling in my stomach. I slowly came to my feet and glanced around at what remains were left of the sitters. Just skeletons with sticky flesh stuck to their skin like meat left on a T-bone. The aunt's hat was thrown back behind the chair she sat in, only a little singed. I worked hard to swallow back vomit as I crossed the room, subconsciously looking for Aickman. As much as I hated him, I didn't want to see him burnt just like the rest of them. I went around the table, careful to step over or else completely avoid the bodies. Then I noticed another person's rasping breath, a little deeper and slower than mine, and I looked down to see that Aickman was on his back, staring up at the ceiling with a dead look in his eyes even though he still breathed. Half of his face was grossly burned, the skin left red and white and in some places even purple. I noticed his hand was also burned, and it looked as if his lower back was, too. Unknowing of what to do, I knelt beside him. I placed one hand on the ground for balance and let the other hover in the air, prepared to help Aickman up if he needed it.

"Sir?" I asked unsurely. When his eyes lazily rolled over to look at me, I got the worst feeling in my torso and I knew precisely what it meant. Aickman wasn't going to get back up.

His chest rose as he prepared to speak, and I could tell that even just speaking was hurting him. I wanted to feel smug about that; him finally being in pain for once while I watched. But I couldn't bring myself to it. My mind was blank, almost completely thoughtless. "They'll be after you now…" He told me in a low voice, then his head faced toward the ceiling again and his eyes began to shut against his own will. "Get out." His words came out in a whisper, and I knew I'd just heard Ramsey Aickman's last breath. How I felt about that, I still do not know. I stood up and backed away, the churning feeling that started in my stomach now spreading to my chest and limbs as well. The séance table began to rattle before shooting across the floor impossibly. I jumped aside and narrowly avoided being cracked against the wall. I heard a scream somewhere in the back of my mind, and knew that was the spirit who had done it. Backed up against the grey curtains now, I spun around to begin throwing them aside and making my way through. I found myself in a hallway that led to several bedrooms we never used. I began to jog through the hallway, and every door I passed, whether I tried to go in it or not, slammed noisily in my face. When I hit the end of the hallway, I found myself at the bottom of the stairs. The door that led to the foyer banged shut, closing off my only way to the front door. Not knowing what else to do, I darted up the stairs. The bathroom door shut once I got near it, and as I ran toward my bedroom or even Aickman's, those doors shut too. Desperate, I ran to my door and grasped the doorknob to try to turn it. But the metal was as hot as fire, and I heard the flesh on my hand sizzle as they made contact. There was nowhere else to go. I spun around to gauge my chances of getting back down the stairs, but quickly decided against it. The walls were burning as if there were a blazing fire beneath them, but there wasn't. There were cracks in the burns, odd marks that took me longer than it should have to recognize. It was Aickman's script.

The sweltering writing got closer to me, consuming and burning every bit of wall, floor and door in it's way. I whirled around once, twice, looking for any way out. Eventually I was backed up against the wall, and felt a white-hot pain in my hand as I unintentionally touched the script. With a yelp, I pulled my hand back and shook it violently to try and cool it. I couldn't spend much time dwelling on that, though. I looked around hurriedly for something, _anything_ that could help me out of this place. The dumbwaiter was on the wall right next to me, and I hastily decided that it was my only way out. I dove in and grabbed the leather strap for the door, yanking the rusty thing down until it closed. I'd hoped to feel some sort of safety or security once I was in there and on my way down, but I felt no such thing. If anything, it was a much worse sort of feeling. I understood how claustrophobic people felt. In contrast to feeling like Aickman's sideshow freak for years, I now felt like a mouse between the paws of a hundred alley cats. Being batted back and forth, maimed for their pleasure. My screaming must have been like music to their ears. The dumbwaiter made it's way down sluggishly, and I shouted all the while.

"Please! Somebody help me!" I grasped at the cage-like walls on all sides of me, rattling them as if it would make anything go faster. I begged again for somebody to help me, my voice an octave higher than usual. My eyes stung with tears that wouldn't stop coming. At last, the dumbwaiter came to a stop. I stuck my fingers between the doors and tried to jam them open to no avail. I was in the basement, and only two doors were in the way of my freedom. I shook the doors more violently, feeling the desperation rise in my chest. I inched backwards toward the back of the dumbwaiter some, and then noticed a small opening to my right. It was a long but very short gap that led into the furnace. The furnace door would be open, I quickly thought, and with that microscopic bit of confidence, scrambled through the small space and crawled through the furnace toward my final hope of freedom. The furnace door was open, like I'd hoped, and was calling me toward it. Suddenly, the opening to the dumbwaiter was closed off with a harsh slam. Having lost my focus for a moment, I glanced toward the furnace door again and continued on my way toward it. Then I saw it shift, and stared as it crashed closed. My heart skipped a beat and my ears began to ring. My body was trying to tell my mind something that it would not accept, and that was the knowledge that my life was about to end.

I still ran on in my thoughts, telling myself that there had to be a way out. I could climb out somehow, pry the doors open. And of course, wait until the spirits were at least somewhat calmer before doing so. But after several seconds, reality began to rear it's ugly head to me, and my mind slowly caught up. There was no way out, and the spirits would not calm down. Not for me. They would stop at nothing to see me dead, and I was helpless against them. The sound of the gas valve turning on it's own did not surprise me, nor did the flames when they flared up inches in front of my face. However, I was not one of those people who could easily accept death when it came their way, nor sit quietly while the flames killed me. I screamed, like any normal man would have, but still could not stop them.

I scrambled toward the back of the furnace, as far away from the flames as I could possibly be. They grew in intensity, and I began to feel the searing heat inch closer to me. Firstly, I thought of my Mother and Father. I wondered if I would go wherever they went, be it heaven or hell. I considered the idea that they could see me now, or that they had seen my life at Aickman's house. I could imagine them being furious at him, or maybe even at me because I didn't leave when I could have. Compared to trying to escape from the spirits, I thought how silly I was to think Aickman could stop me, or how asinine it was for me to be afraid of him. He was only a man. I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs, burying my face between my knees. I no longer screamed, only cried into the fabric of my pants. I felt the heat begin to come closer to me, growing hotter and hotter by the second. Eloise crept into my thoughts then, and I grimaced at the image of her. It was morbid, but I wished she could see me now. Why should Aickman and I be the only ones who paid? It was her fault that I ever was damned to this death in the first place. Then I thought of Mrs. Doris, and Virginia. Mrs. Doris was right all along, wanting to keep Virginia from this sort of thing… And I was glad that they had left. How easily could either one of them had been in the séance room when this all happened. I was happy that they both were safe, probably not even aware that my life was ending or that I was thinking of them. My skin suddenly was burning, scorching with a pain that was worse than any I'd ever known, and my mind went blank; filled with nothing but the natural and instinctual need to save my own life. Backed up against the blistering hot furnace wall, I heard my screams echoing back to me as death tore me away from my body. The very last thing I heard was a booming laugh from a woman, so loud that I felt as if she were right there, laughing ominously at my agonizing demise.


End file.
